She also felt the need to perform security checks when she got to her desk. She knew better than to keep anything important in her desk or at her apartment – if anyone broke into them, they wouldn’t find any of her work. She checked the drawers of her desk and around the lock for scratches. She put a piece of clear tape along the side of her drawers so she could tell if they had been opened. Everything seemed okay.
“Don’t worry, Little Girl. No one cares what you have in your desk,” Burt Newman snarled from across his desk.
“Mind your own business, Burt,” she said as she docked her computer.
“The princess is paranoid,” said Burt amused.
“You know, if you spent half as much time on your personal hygiene as you do trying to piss me off, you wouldn’t be so repulsive to look at and smell. You must have to hold your wife captive so she can’t escape or is she a pathetic mess like you are,” she snapped. As the words came out of her mouth, she was sorry. Her sparring had never gotten so personal or so mean. She saw from the look on his face she had hurt him. “I’m sorry, Burt.”
“I expect as much from you,” he said and walked away from his desk. She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. Her phone rang. She saw from the extension it was Joyce.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Montgomery would like to see you.”
“I’ll be right there.” Her hand shook a little as she put down the phone. She stood up and picked up her bag, a note pad and a pen. She tried to think of something nice to say to Joyce. It also dawned on her how many people disliked her in that office. The men in the Sports Department liked her, she consoled herself. She sighed - that’s because she flirted with them. They weren’t competition for her. At the office holiday party (you aren’t allowed to call them Christmas parties anymore) last year, she spent the night hanging out with them - probably because no one else wanted to talk to her. Well, except Will. Most of the men who worked at the paper were married. Most of the men who worked in the Sports Department were divorced. Following a baseball team all season could take its toll on a marriage. She was a competition and focal point for male bonding for the men in Sports. They could say and do all the typical guys-tripped-out-on-testosterone things guys like to do when they’re together without her protesting, and she enjoyed the playful flirting. Her run-ins with the guys in Sports were rare because of their schedules, but they did a lot to boost her ego.
To everyone else at the paper, she was a pain in the ass. She always blamed them, though. After her exchange with Burt Newman this morning, maybe she was more of the problem than she cared to admit, she thought. Will was in Joyce’s work area when Kristine arrived, which prevented any of the niceties she hadn’t had time to plan.
“Kris, come on in,” Will said. Kristine just waved at Joyce, a gesture Joyce probably mistook for sarcasm. Will closed the door behind Kristine. She plopped down in one of the chairs across from him. Will’s office was almost the size of her apartment. He had a sitting area, 47 inch TV, his own restroom, a little stainless steel refrigerator and a huge, decorative cherry wood desk. He sat in his black leather chair. It was the kind of chair that would have made anyone else look small. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why?” she asked.
“You’ve been in my office for 30 seconds and haven’t said a word,” he said sitting back.
“I’d like to move my desk away from Burt’s,” she replied quietly.
“You’ve asked me to do this three or four times now and the answer is always no,” he said.
“Today’s different,” she said. “I was really mean to him.”
“You’re always really mean to him. You’re mean to everyone except me and the guys in Sports. That’s why no one wants to sit near you,” he said amused. She cringed at his words. She thought for a minute and realized she should probably tell him what had happened before anyone else did.
“I kind of went over the line this time, Will. I kind of attacked him and his wife,” she said. Will closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again.
“What did you say?”
“I said he was repulsive and he probably had to hold his wife captive so she wouldn’t escape from him unless she was just as bad as he is,” she said and sighed. Instinctively, she felt the need to defend herself. “But he is repulsive. You’d have to admit that. And he’s always picking on me, calling me ‘little girl’ and you know how much I hate that!”
“Let me tell you something, but I’d like for you not to repeat it,” Will said leaning forward in his chair his voice deep as usual but with an almost scolding tone she hadn’t heard in the past. “Burt’s wife lost both of her legs and her eyesight as a complication of diabetes. Burt spends all of his money and energy taking care of her. During the day, he pays for a nurse to come in and help her. The medical expenses, the nurse and taking care of her are taking their toll on him. I think he likes you, because you don’t treat him like you feel sorry for him.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Crap,” she whispered.
“Now, let’s forget we had that conversation. I want to know what’s going on with the story,” he said leaning back in the chair again. “We haven’t talked in a week.” She cleared her throat and tried to erase what she had just heard from her mind.
“Do you have a radio in here?” she asked looking around and feeling two inches tall. She walked over to the TV and picked up the remote. She stepped back, pointed it at the TV and clicked the power button. The television was set to a 24 hour news channel, which she didn’t take the time to identify. She pushed the volume button to create background noise. She motioned for Will to come around his desk and join her on the sofa closer to the TV. He did, and they sat facing each other.
“I have a strong story,” she said. “But it’s not great, yet. I’m sure there’s more out there. I brought you this,” she stood up and turned away from him. She untucked her shirt and reached under her blouse to retrieve a disc. She put the disc in her mouth and tucked her white button-down shirt into the black dress pants. She didn’t consider herself a fashionista, but she knew what looked good and stylish on her. She took the disc from her mouth and turned around to see a highly amused, yet very concerned look on Will’s face. She sat down and put the disc on her leg. “I need you to keep this somewhere really safe and do not tell anyone you have it.” He was looking at the disc.
“You’re off the story,” he said quietly looking up at her. This brought the life back into her.
“What?!” she said practically jumping off the couch and the disc fell onto the floor. She picked up the shiny circle and held her work between her thumb and index finger.
“If you’re walking around with your story stuffed under your clothes and turning on background noise, you obviously think there’s some sort of danger,” he said taking her arm and pulling her back down on the sofa. “Why?” She searched her mind for something to say. “Tell me why or I’m completely killing the story,” he said.
“Okay, just don’t kill the story,” she said unconsciously putting her hand on his leg. She realized where her hand was and drew it away quickly. “Sorry,” she said as she felt her face grow warm. “I noticed the lock on my desk broken one morning when I came into the office.”
“And?” he replied. Kristine wondered if he had some sort of magic powers that let him read her mind - like a Jedi or something.
“And someone may have broken into my apartment.”
“And?”
“And someone may have tried to run me down in a crosswalk,” she said putting extra emphasis on the word “may.”
“Run you down?” he asked shocked and panicked. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“Hey, this is New York. People get nearly run over in crosswalks every day,” she said somewhat surprised at his reaction.
“This isn’t a joke, Krissy. No story is worth losing your life.”
“What life,” she said sarcastically. “Will,
in case you haven’t noticed, this job is my life.” They stared at each other for a moment.
“You’re driven,” he said comfortingly. “This is my fault. A lot of pressure came with the job offer, but you’ve surpassed even my expectations as a reporter. You’re young. You have a lot of life left to live.” He didn’t sound like an editor. He sounded like a friend. She didn’t know what to say to this.
“I really want this story, Will.”
“I know you do. But you don’t want it for the right reasons. You don’t want to uncover some truth to right a wrong. You want to win. You want to be first,” he said now sounding more like a father - or worse…a psychiatrist. Still, there was truth in his words. “Let me give the story to someone else.”
“No, you can’t do that to me,” she nearly shouted gripping the disc tighter. “I don’t want you to understand my motives. I’ve done a hell of a lot of work on this, and it’s mine. Giving it to someone else will only take the focus off of me and put it on someone else. Do you want that?” She knew she had a point, but now she was afraid he’d totally kill the story. “Will, if you take away my story, I’ll quit and sell it to someone else,” she said without thinking. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed, hurt or disappointed by that threat.
“You’re not leaving me much choice here,” he said. They sat in silence, the only noise coming from an update of the stock market on the news, for what seemed like a few minutes. “How close are you to getting what you need?”
“Close,” she said. She didn’t know this for sure, but it was a gut feeling she had had for a few days.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said standing. He paced for a few seconds (he did this when he was deep in thought) before he sat down again. “Okay. We’re going to put you into a higher security apartment. You’re to do as much as you can via email and phone calls. I don’t want you to leave the building unless it’s absolutely necessary, and you will not leave alone. I’ll hire around the clock security.”
“Will, don’t you think that’s overkill? I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said uncomfortable at the thought someone would be babysitting her but curiously finding it intriguing that he wanted to take care of her.
“No. I don’t,” he said. She knew she wouldn’t win an argument with him. Her mind raced as she feigned listening to him as he continued to give her instructions about how to live her life. She spent most of the day in his office going over story details with him, and he received a delivery of a large sum of cash. He gave it to her so she wouldn’t have to use credit cards should the need arise for her to leave town. He also received a delivery of a new cell phone which he gave to her. By the time 6:00 arrived, she didn’t know if she felt safer or more panicked with him helping her. The only thing left for her to do was get some of her stuff out of her apartment, but Will told her he had someone run out to buy her what she needed, and everything would be waiting for her.
Will led her from his office, and she nearly had to run to keep pace with him. He led her to a set of elevators she had never ridden before today. After a walk down a strange hallway and another elevator ride, she was in a parking garage. It was dark - probably underground, she thought. Will was quiet as he concentrated and looked nervously around the garage.
“Remind me to get someone to take care of the security footage,” he said without looking at her.
“Right,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Total overkill, she thought.
Will pushed a button on his keychain and the hazard lights on a black Lexus LS sedan flashed. He walked to the passenger side. She followed, but he opened the back door.
“Get in,” he ordered, and she realized she was waiting for him to open the front door. She opened her mouth to say something, and he added, “Please.” She got into the backseat of the car. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. She looked around. The car was spotless inside and out. The leather was cool, even through her clothing. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car was so quiet she wasn’t even sure it started until he pulled out of the parking space.
“Stay down,” he ordered again.
“Will, the windows are tinted,” she said in a deadpan tone.
“Humor me,” he urged. She curled up on the backseat. Traffic in the city was bumper to bumper. Will nervously watched the rearview mirror. After a half hour of being curled up, she started to feel achy. She sat up slightly.
“Look, this is crazy,” she said. He didn’t respond. “Are you ignoring me?”
“I don’t want it to look like I’m talking to anyone,” he said. She thought he was kind of silly playing this cloak and dagger spy game. She humored him and put her head down on the seat. She closed her eyes and imagined how this was probably the most excitement he had seen in years.
Kristine met his wife Emily Wentworth-Montgomery once when she brought the twin girls in for Will’s 25th anniversary working at the paper. She seemed as uptight as her name. She had blonde hair cut into a shoulder length bob with a headband holding her hair away from her face. Not one hair was out of place. Not even a fly-away. “How do you control fly-aways?” she thought. Never mind. Emily smiled at all the right times and intensely monitored the kids as they ate their cake. Heaven forbid they get blue icing on their white, wrinkle-free dresses.
The girls looked like dolls. They barely spoke a word and smiled at the right times, too. When they posed for a family photo, it looked like something you’d get when you bought the frame. Picture perfect - too perfect. Kristine wondered if Emily Wentworth-Montgomery ever passed gas. The thought made her giggle out loud.
“What’s so funny back there,” Will asked. Kristine hadn’t noticed, but the car was moving quickly.
“Oh nothing,” she said and wondered how long she had been lost in thought. The car pulled into a parking lot, or at least that is what it felt like as the motion sent her rocking back and forth on the seat.
“Can I get up now?” she asked.
“Wait until I get into the garage,” he said concentrating. She waited until the car pulled into a spot and came to a stop. Will released the latch on the trunk from the inside and got out. She sat up and rolled her stiff neck. Will opened the door and held his hand out to her. She took it and got out of the car with her purse and laptop bag. She looked down at his hand in hers. She wasn’t sure they had purposely touched since the first day of work when he welcomed her to the office. He let go of her hand and moved to the trunk. He removed some bags. They seemed to be new, black luggage - must be her store-bought items. There were too many for him to carry on his own, so she took some from him. They walked to a door, and Will flashed a badge in front of a reader. “This is a high security building,” he said and opened the door for her.
“Yeah. Thanks,” she said as she moved through the door. There was a bank of mirrored elevators in the hall. He pushed the up arrow. She deduced there must be more levels of garage below them. They stepped into the elevators when the doors opened and turned around to face them again. Will slid a key into the opening next to the highest floor. “Wow. Penthouse? Nice.” Will didn’t say anything. They rode the elevator to the top floor and stepped off into a very nice apartment or maybe it was a condo. Either way, it was beautiful. “You know, this place is going to make it difficult to go back to the closet I call an apartment. Whose place is this?”
“Mine,” Will said as he carried bags around a corner. She crinkled her eyebrows and repeated what he said. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she saw the kitchen. She tried to remember if she had eaten anything, but the day seemed like it had been a week long. She put the bags she was carrying on a huge white, overstuffed chair. Everything seemed to be white, black or red - very masculine. Will came back around the corner. “I put your bags in the spare room,” he said and walked to the kitchen. “Hungry?” She was confused.
“Um, yeah,” she said and followed him into the kitchen. “Will? Won’t your wife be upset I’m here?” She
didn’t know where Will and his family lived and hadn’t really considered a place like this.
“Emily and I are no longer together,” he said while opening the refrigerator. “How about Italian?”
“How about Italian? You just tell me you and your wife are separated and then go into the dinner question like it’s nothing,” she said as she closed the refrigerator and stood face to face with him. He was tall…maybe even taller than she thought. “I’m really sorry, Will.”
“It’s okay. It’s for the best,” he said looking down at her. “Now, do you like Italian? If you’re not hungry, I am.” To Kristine, Italian meant ravioli from a can or pizza take out.
“Italian is fine with me. What can I do to help?” she asked watching him pull out a pot and put it under the sink. She wanted more information on the separation. She tried to ignore the reporter questions spinning like a huge, mid-western tornado through her already over-burdened mind.
He was her boss. Their relationship was strictly professional, and she should keep it that way, right? What if he poured his heart out to her and starting crying about how much he missed his wife and kids? Would she be able to look at him the same way in the newsroom? The answer was no. She didn’t want to break her image of him. That made it easier to let the twister of questions rise back into the clouds.
“Just make yourself at home,” he said. She turned and walked around the counter to the other side of the wall and sat on a bar stool to watch him. The kitchen cabinets were white, the granite countertops were black and the walls were painted a deep red. He took a bottle of wine from a wine rack on top of the refrigerator and put it on the counter. He slid two wine glasses off the rack hanging from under one of the cabinets. He put them on the counter next to the wine and then opened the bottle with ease. When Kristine opened a bottle of wine, it looked more like a wrestling match. The bottles she opened had bits of cork floating in them by the time she was finished.
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